You erupt the Christ fire in my molten heart,
and somehow I bring the breeze of the buddha light out from your soul.
Deja vu is a soul tattoo,
and you've got sleeves on both arms and legs.

Our pens
         groove on paper,
    logging the journey to be found
                                                           ­      in the future;
                                                                ­        an echo
                                     from our ancient celestial civilization.
        We from the Chakra Kali Dali Hug-Me Feng Shui Chi-gon golden flower power tribe
              collide to create
                 the creation,
               your creation,
                 the sacred
                   time of
                     your
                    being
that brings about the language of love
in the air, weaving between the time fabric
like a crochet star knot.

We speak in hieroglyphic jazz,
finding Van Goh in a wine color
dripping on the white wall.

You are a living peace of art.
Some call them scars, I see canyons of experience,
hearing your joyous words
that Saeng forth in the windy caverns;
                 the sound echoes serpentine,
                            percolating,
            ­          a peppermint breath in the desert,
           a lavender bath in the middle of a New York Winter.
Sometimes it sounds like younger generations singing campfire stories of us.

And to meet you,
playing guitar in only an aqua dragon robe;
             fingers dancing,
              bones shaking
music rotating like the earth round the sun-
emanating from your heart
        pouring words into me
                     like a
         honey whisky nectar....
            those moments
          are forever grateful--
to know you even once, let alone several lifetimes
is humbling, a sacred shaman's honor and pleasure,
even if we are each other's imaginary best friend.